


But that the days did not pass so swiftly

by middlemarch



Category: Emma (2020), Emma - Jane Austen
Genre: Age Difference, Donne, Dryden - Freeform, F/M, Friends to Lovers, References to Poetry, References to Shakespeare, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24544843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: George Knightley is sixteen years her senior.
Relationships: George Knightley/Emma Woodhouse
Comments: 16
Kudos: 159





	But that the days did not pass so swiftly

When she was six years old, Emma thought Mr. Knightley was probably ancient. Miss Taylor had her learning about the kings of England even though Emma would much rather have learned about the queens and Emma was nearly certain that Mr. Knightley had been part of the court of James I. He could talk for hours about things which were so dull that they could not bear remembering, things about sheep and acres and whatever tenants were. He kept some comfits wrapped in a handkerchief for her and never let Papa know if she’d had more than one, so she didn’t mind his terrible age.

When she was twelve years old, Emma thought Mr. Knightley was quite old. Isabella and John had become engaged and were constantly to be found regarding various blooms in the conservatory as if they were truly interested in botany. Mr. Knightley had a way of clearing his throat that was some sort of warning and Emma wished that just once he would sneak up upon his elder brother and scare him with his stealthy approach. Isabella was always flushed and she pulled the petals from every blossom and Mr. Knightley shrugged. He quoted from Dryden’s _The Hind and the Panther_ in a way that could have been tedious, but something in his tone made it clear he understood. What it was he understood, Emma could not have said, except that she liked it, nearly as much as the peach from the hothouse he tossed her when no one was looking.

When she was sixteen years old, Emma thought Mr. Knightley was middle-aged. Staid. Just the least bit elderly. So serious she could not help teasing him in whatever way she could find. He called her a hoyden and a miss, he raised an eyebrow and kept himself from smiling and told her to run about the Abbey while he gave Miss Taylor a cup of tea which was well-deserved. 

When she was twenty, Emma thought Mr. Knightley was an adult. He never worried if his boots were dusty as his linen was always perfectly pristine and he was always perfectly correct in his address, whether it was to tenant, tradesman or peer. He had an unerring sense of his own duty, the honor due anyone he spoke to, a particular handsome grace in his manner. His gaze was steady and clear, his eyes a beautiful dark blue, like the sky when the dusk was shifting most solemnly to night. He was quick to offer his help to anyone who was needful but shy of asking and his hands were so finely made Emma caught her breath when she thought of them.

When she was twenty-one, Emma thought George was young. With her, he cried out at the beauty of the peregrine falcon and the stars piercing the night sky, he kissed the inside of her wrist while he looked at her lips, he recited Shakespeare and Donne until she blushed and she found the touch of her hand to his jaw was enough to incite the most fiery expression in his blue eyes. He loved ripe strawberries, even more after she’d eaten one, and he called her name _Emma lovely lovely Emma_ like she was an empress, a goddess, anyone except an Englishwoman in a pair of laced slippers and a muslin chemise. Alone with her, George laughed and grinned, he splashed the water of the lake or the basin, he caught her up in a dance without any music, singing the melody in her ear, his baritone thrilling her, bewitching her.

When she was twenty-two, Emma saw the first silver glints at George’s temples and then ignored it. Most determinedly. He was good and she tried very hard to be so; the years must be kind to them. They must. Fate might not mind Emma Woodhouse, but Emma Knightley was not to be trifled with.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Emma. 
> 
> The Hind and the Panther: A Poem, in Three Parts (1687) is an allegory in heroic couplets by John Dryden. At some 2600 lines it is much the longest of Dryden's poems, translations excepted, and perhaps the most controversial. The critic Margaret Doody has called it "the great, the undeniable, sui generis poem of the Restoration era…It is its own kind of poem, it cannot be repeated (and no one has repeated it)."


End file.
